


Diamond Dogs in a Rhinestone World

by SkazuhiraMiller



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Banter, Comedy, Diamond Dogs Mother Base: Origins, M/M, The Gang Finesses an Oil Rig, Yee (and i cannot stress this enough) Haw, crimes against the geneva convention (of fashion), loosely ship tagged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkazuhiraMiller/pseuds/SkazuhiraMiller
Summary: A prim-looking woman tapped her red acrylic fingernails on the conference table. If looks could kill, this one would’ve whizzed past Ocelot’s ear like a misfired high noon duel shot. He hit her and the man sitting next to her with a smug grin and tipped his cowboy hat.“Howdy there, y’all ready to talk oil rigs?” He met Miller’s gaze. Get ready. “My apologies, y’all here say uh… Bon Jovi… mon-sewer and.. m’damn.”
Relationships: Kazuhira Miller/Ocelot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	Diamond Dogs in a Rhinestone World

**Author's Note:**

> This was done for PliskinPress's Lost Years Zine and has accompanying illustrations! The PDF version is now out! I Can't link to it here per AO3 policies but it's out there and you should consider supporting it if you liked this fic! It's chock full of other excellent writers and artists for the fandom <3 
> 
> Special thanks to Lia, Kate, and Gill, my support squad who got me through writing this fic mid fixation shift!

“_Absolutely _ the fuck not,” Miller said, eyeing the sequined fringe vest Ocelot held up on a hanger. 

“C’mon, just try it on?” 

“I thought we were supposed to be Texas oil men, not _ members of The Village People _.” 

“Kaz… We’re in _ Vegas _… Live a little!” 

They’d been living _ plenty _ for the past week, thank you very much. They’d come to cut a pretty good weapons deal with an old contact who’d insisted on the location and… the indulgences. Let’s just say it was true what they say about _ what happens in Vegas _ … some of this shit, Boss wouldn’t need to know about when he woke up, that’s for sure. So they were making preparations for their newest venture. Which somehow involved.. _ this. _

After five stores and what felt like a million equally awful outfits, they settled on a robin’s egg blue leisure suit with a white cowboy hat. This could be alright. But-- and it’s always _ but _ with this fucker.

“These were the only boots left in your size.” Ocelot held up a _ disgustingly _ bedazzled pair of… cowboy boots. Were they white? Ivory? Light gray? Kaz couldn’t even tell underneath all the _ rhinestones _. 

“That’s _ bullshit _ and we both know it.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Kaz motioned to an employee. “Excuse me, do you have any other boots in this size?” 

The guy shook his head. “Those are the only ones in stock.” Bastard probably paid him off. But alright. He wasn't about to make a scene. Rhinestone boots it was. Kaz wasn’t one to indulge Ocelot’s cowboy bullshit short of one of those prized six-shooters held to his head, but this time… If it meant Diamond Dogs could have a permanent home, it was worth looking like a couple of dipshits who got lost on their way to Bonanza Bill’s Rootin’ Tootin’ Saloon. He wouldn’t regret this. Or so said Ocelot, but what the fuck did he know about _ regret? _

Speaking of Ocelot, Kaz hadn’t yet seen the outfit he picked out for _ himself _ . It was apparently a “surprise” - Kaz would be damned if he cared about what his _ associate _ was wearing, though, Admittedly, it was comforting to know he wouldn’t be the most ridiculous person in the room. 

The Big Reveal happened a week later in their Paris hotel room. “God” was the only word Kaz managed to get out when Ocelot pranced his way out of the hotel bathroom. _ God _ was absolutely nowhere in proximity to this affront to good taste. Ten-gallon hat. Patterned maroon silk shirt, not _ nearly _buttoned enough. White leather gloves in place of his usual red. Oversized belt buckle with an elaborate engraving depicting crossed revolvers. Even Kaz’s aviators couldn’t protect him from the blindingly white boots with gold inlays and polished spurs to match.

“So what do ya think?” 

“Awful.” 

“That’s what I like to hear!” said Ocelot, beaming. 

Kaz turned to lead the way out of the room. 

“Now hold on one diddly-darn second there, _ pardner _.” 

Kaz whipped back around. _ Oh, God. _“What?”

“I got somethin’ for ya.” 

A glint caught Kaz’s eye. He looked down.

“No.” 

“Yes.” It was a silver belt buckle in the shape of Texas with glittering rhinestones marking what Kaz presumed were major cities. 

“I think you’ll find it really ties the outfit together,” drawled Ocelot.

Kaz exhaled. Gotta save the fight for negotiation. And he wasn’t really in the mood to argue with this Ocelot, who had fully leaned into this cover’s dialect already. He took the obnoxious buckle. “Fine.” 

“Why don’t ya run us both through our angle again, darlin’?” 

“Don’t call me that, Ocelot.” 

“Up-up-up. That ain’t my name, remember? It’s Douglas D. Douglas. The–” 

Kaz sighed and said it with him. “–man so nice they named him twice. What the hell did the middle initial stand for again?” 

Ocelot held a finger to his lips. “Y’know what they say… A cowboy never reveals his secrets.” 

“I’m pretty sure no one has ever said that about cowboys. It’s _ magicians. _” 

Ocelot drew his fancy engraved revolver and twirled it. “You implyin’ I ain’t got magic hands?” 

Kaz grimaced. This is _ by far _ the worst Ocelot he’s ever seen and _ he’s seen Shalashaska. _ “Whatever you say, Douglas D. Dipshit.” 

“Now, remember what we were talkin’ about before ya started runnin’ your mouth?” 

“Our angle. Yeah. So we’re a couple of new money Texas oilmen. We’re dumb as hell. Really play into the ugly American stereotypes. It becomes clear we got this money through serendipity alone, right? My angle is Mr. Douglas’s _ somehow even dumber _ arm candy. We lead ‘em down a a path about how we’re so excited to expand our business with this new rig. And then, when the time is right-”

“You flip it on ‘em!” Ocelot interjected.

“Yeah. Reveal that I know they’re the same group MSF turned down back in ‘73 because they were so shady. We know the platform’s been decommissioned for years. They have the option to give us the price we want, or we tell all our contacts what they did.” 

“You got it, pardner.” 

Kaz took a deep breath and steeled himself. It would go more smoothly if he could find _ any fraction _ of the zeal for this cover Ocelot had. He stood a little taller and put his hands on his belt. 

“Let’s get us a _ gosh darn _ oil platform,” Kaz said, slipping into the accent he’d practiced for hours.

“That’s the spirit!” chimed Ocelot. Kaz let that energy carry him out of the room, hearing jingly steps behind him.

_______

Ocelot eyed the face of his watch with the custom patterned leather band. 10:10. Some would say that’s ten minutes late to the meeting, but Douglas D. Douglas would say–he stepped a single boot through the hotel conference room door–_ right on time. _

A prim-looking woman tapped her red acrylic fingernails on the conference table. _ If looks could kill _, this one would’ve whizzed past Ocelot’s ear like a misfired high noon duel shot. He hit her and the man sitting next to her with a smug grin and tipped his cowboy hat.

“Howdy there, y’all ready to talk oil rigs?” He met Miller’s gaze. _ Get ready. _“My apologies, y’all here say uh… Bon Jovi… mon-sewer and.. m’damn.” He saw Miller press his lips together. Trying not to laugh already? 

Miller cut in. “I'm Benny MacDonald and this here's my associate, Douglas D. Douglas. Pardon his manners–”

“And our lateness,” Ocelot finished for him, “Was hard to find a parkin’ spot for Bertha ‘n’ all. Spots are a lot smaller here in France.” 

The man looked baffled but extended his hand nonetheless. “Welcome. I am Jacques Caron and this is Genevieve Leblanc.”

Ocelot shook his hand enthusiastically. “Pleasure to meet ya both!” 

The woman’s eyebrows were raised. She turned to Jacques and said, in hushed French, “Who is _ Bertha? _” 

Jacques shook his head. “His wife, maybe?” This was _ just perfect _ . What kind of dumbass Texan understands _ French _ anyway? 

After introductions, Ocelot straddled a swivel chair backwards and spun around to face them. “Let’s get right down to business. Me ‘n’ Benny here are real excited to expand our oil business out to the- how ya call ‘em - Sea-shells?”

“_ Seychelles _.” Genevieve was having none of it. 

“Ahahaha, by the seashore… or… in the middle, rather,” Miller mused. Good job. She looked even more disgusted. His smile faded a bit. “So, how’s the productivity on this thing?” 

“The oil well?” asked Jacques. 

“Yeah.” 

Jacques opened a manila folder and pulled out some papers. “See for yourself. These are the figures for the past year of operation.” He pushed it across the table towards Miller. 

“How’s this look, Doug?” Miller whispered loudly. 

Ocelot looked down at the charts. He wasn’t an expert on this sort of thing but this seemed legitimate enough for a known forgery. Might have even fooled Miller on a bad day. But then again, probably not. It showed steady productivity at what he assumed was an appealing rate. He placed his hand down on the paper. 

“Mind if I keep this?” Ocelot asked. Good to have as much physical evidence as possible. 

“Be my guest, Mr. Douglas” replied Jacques, with a forced smile. 

“Aw please, Jackie boy, call me Doug!” Ocelot insisted, watching Jackie boy grimace at the nickname. He took another look down at the chart. “Looks like a mighty fine setup ya got here! Plenty of output to offset the costs of cartin’ all the oil outta such a remote location, I reckon. This here, we could work with.” 

“How’s the structural integrity of the platforms and whatnot?” asked Miller, not giving them a chance to say anything.

“What do you mean?” asked Genevieve, “The paperwork you were given shows regular inspections, page five.” 

“But can ya drive a truck on it?” asked Miller. A legitimate question, given they’d probably want to be able to drive transport vehicles around base. Not that they’d get a legitimate _ answer _. 

“A truck?” Genevieve squinted at them. 

“Would be real tragic if we couldn’t bring Bertha on down with us…” sighed Ocelot. 

“And Bertha is your-” Jacques began

“Oh, pardon my manners. Y’all wanna see Bertha? She’s an awful big gal… She’s been with us since the very beginnin’ when we only had ten buckaroonies to our names.” 

Ocelot took out his wallet that had “DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS” embossed in the leather. He flipped it open to reveal a photo of a Ford pickup truck with Miller leaned against the hood. Overalls. No shirt. They’d found it parked in Vegas. As Ocelot had said, the more details, the better the cover. Even if they’re _ stupid _details. 

Jacques was floored. “Bertha is… a _ truck _?” 

“And you said this truck is here, in France?” Genevieve asked.

“Yer darn right, Jenny darlin’–we had her brought over with us for our whole European trip. Wouldn’t be right drivin’ somethin’ else.” 

She stared wide-eyed like he was speaking Russian. Miller moved right along and asked about prices. Tedious stuff, really. He didn’t know how Miller did this as a regular job with no funny business without dying of boredom. He let his eyes wander over to his companion. _ God, _ Miller didn’t even appreciate how good he looked in that outfit. The blue really brought out his eyes, when they were visible. As much as Miller hated that hat it looked… _ great _.

The white just lent a certain elegance to him. The fake accent he’d helped Miller perfect… smooth like buttered corn at a county fair... The glare from Miller’s Rolex caught his eye and his gaze rested on his hands… strong but adept... _ Could get used to a view like this on the range. _

_______

Kaz’s business partner had gone awfully quiet over there. Good thing, too. Kaz had damn near lost his composure at “buckaroonies” and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep a straight face. He still couldn’t believe the _ fucking _truck thing. Ocelot had pulled the rental car over in front of some dive bar and said, “PHOTO OP!” 

Kaz hated to admit he was almost _ glad _ . The looks on their faces when he showed them the wallet picture made the half hour of _ Bertha _ backstory in the car worth it. Damn Ocelot and his _ ridiculous _ cover. But this was shaping up to be a _ ridiculous _ deal. The guy, Jacques, or whatever, was regarding him with judgmental eyes while the lady, Cecile’s much plainer sister, drew up the contract. 

“I’m just going to need your signature, _ monsieurs _ ,” she said, sliding the contract over to Kaz. He eyed the final price. Highway _ robbery _ . _ Perfect _. Ocelot, who seemed to have snapped out of his trance, offered him a gaudy souvenir pen with a huge Lone Star emblem on the back. With his left hand, he obscured the signature line. On it he wrote in big, block letters, unmistakable: “SUCK IT.” He smiled, nodded, then passed it over to Ocelot, who drew a crude cat on his line. Ocelot handed the contract over, beaming. “I think is a good agreement for both parties.” 

Genevieve looked relieved. _ Not yet, you don’t _. She looked down at the paper in her hand.

“Is this some kind of_ joke _?!”

“I’d turn that question right back at you guys,” Kaz said, dropping the accent completely. “Here’s a question for you. Either of you remember _ Militaires Sans Frontieres _?” He made sure to pronounce that part perfectly. 

Jacques’s jaw was on the floor. “You mean—”

“The PMC you tried to hire out to a fucking death trap of a job in Guatemala in 1973 for peanuts? And we didn’t take it because we _ knew _ you were bullshitting us?” 

“How do you know about—”

“I was MSF’s _ motherfucking subcommander. _I turned that deal down myself. I’m surprised your shitty little organization is still around after seven years.” 

“We-”

Kaz stood up. “Quiet. I suggest you hear us out on our counter-offer.” He walked the edge of the table, slow and methodical. “Here’s the deal. You give Diamond Dogs the price _ we _ want, and we don’t tell our entire contact network that you guys lied to us about a _ decommissioned oil rig. _” He slammed his own contract down on the table. 

They muttered to each other in French. Kaz caught a couple swears. Genevieve made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Is that so?” cut in Ocelot, in English, “If it’s really not such a huge loss to you anyway, why not take an extra twenty percent off for our trouble?” 

They both stared at him, mouths agape.

“What, did you really think I couldn’t understand you?” 

Somehow Genevieve managed to sign the updated contract despite her hands trembling in rage. 

Jacques seemed almost impressed. “I have to ask. Why go to all the effort? The outfits. The _ truck _. All for a rig you knew was decommissioned?” 

Ocelot fingergunned and pantomimed blowing the smoke off the barrel. _ God. _ “You wouldn’t understand. It’s hard to be a Diamond Dog in a rhinestone world.” Jacques stared with raised eyebrows. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Kaz said, all smiles and handshakes. He walked out with a spring in his step despite the utterly awful footwear that accompanied it. 

In the elevator, Kaz turned to Ocelot. “Great job in there. But what the hell was that rhinestone thing about? Weren’t you the one who made me wear these boots?” 

“It’s a Dolly Parton line mixed with your Bowie reference company name. C’mon, weren’t you paying attention at all when I gave you the primer for this cover?” 

“You call blasting your music over the car stereo while I sleep in the passenger seat driving through the Mojave _ a primer _?” 

“Really, Kazuhira? Disrespecting Dolly, in an _ elevator _, with Revolver Ocelot?”

“Already with the murder threats?”

Kaz foresaw a _ lot _ of Dolly Parton tapes on the long helicopter ride that awaited them. 

_______

It was half a miracle the helicopter landing went so smoothly considering the dire shape of the helipad, much less the entire rig. “Be careful down there,” Pequod had said, like they were doing a field deployment. Rust everywhere. Some of these platforms would probably have to get rebuilt almost entirely. But with that extra discount they could afford an even better construction team. The place was shitty, but it was _ home _, now. Or, it would be.

He felt Ocelot’s hand on his shoulder. “Imagine… this entire place… fixed up and painted _ hot pink _ . _ ” _

“Why the fuck would we do that?”

“I dunno. Endless possibilities, Kaz.” 

Miller took a look at the dilapidated expanse around him, and then at the weird bastard at his side. A small smile crossed his lips. Yeah. _ Endless possibilities. _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
